


Paper Cranes and Water Colours

by crackleviolet



Series: Violets are Blue [9]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 13:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11232120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackleviolet/pseuds/crackleviolet
Summary: Today, in chat:“Gee whizz, V has long fingers, I wonder what they can do”There's not enough V smut in the world





	Paper Cranes and Water Colours

His fingers are so long that it borders on distracting. When he sips his tea, combs them through the softness of his hair or turns a page of his book, she finds herself admiring them. They were made for piano keys; for pressed flowers; for bone china and paper cuttings.

And now they’re resting on her lips, leaving her to consider how wonderfully perfect they are as she slips her tongue across the skin.

They abandoned their clothes almost a half hour ago, but instead of making love settled to lay side by side above the covers, silent but for the sounds of one another’s steady breathing and the understanding of words unsaid.

She is unsure how to tell him exactly how much she wants to embrace him body and soul; for his hands to leave her as beautiful as the roses he made her from paper.

 “Please,” she sighs into him, as his other hand ghosts her hair. “Please, I…”

 She moves on from his fingers to kiss his lips, running her fingers through his hair and drinking in the tenderness of his gaze. It seems almost wrong to want him to play her body as skillfully as the piano she created in her imagination; as out of place as an artistic nude in a book of poetry, but he rests his forehead against hers and she realises he knows.

One of his hands has dampened fingertips from the tentative touch of her tongue and when he adjusts his position he props himself upon it, leaving her to stare at the way the sun shines on his hair in the hazy morning sunlight; more shades of blue and green than she can possibly name and is far too enamoured to try.

“Jihyun,” she whispers as his fingers skim the softness of her stomach. Habitually she reaches for a better grip of the bed and sucks in one, long extended breath as his lips graze her neck.

 “Jihyun,” she says.

 “Mm?” 

His breath is hot against her jawline and his voice vibrates against her skin. She wonders if he knows the effect his voice has on her and as he peppers her forehead and jawline with soft kisses, his other hand tracing patterns across her body, she’s almost convinced she hates him.

 “No more interruptions,” she moans, reaching for the hand on her stomach and interlocking her fingers with his so that she might better redirect it to the increasingly apparent heat between her thighs.

Truthfully, she does not know how more obvious she can be.

She can be sitting in his studio, on a chair of his choosing and an angle carefully chosen for its position in the light, indulging in the utter deliciousness of the moment he makes eye contact and flushes a shade of pink. She can initiate kisses that are never refused, for he loves kisses and is only too happy to spoil himself accordingly. He loves kisses to the nose, kisses to the cheek, kisses on the lips that last fractionally too long, kisses that miss and end in giggles. He loves them and she enjoys obliging her lips for the chance at being so close to him that she can absorb the smell of bergamot and pipe smoke that seems to linger about his person.

But nine times out of ten, though their lips have touched, the encounter ends halfway.

 He has more patience than she does. He told her of her beauty even she leaned him backwards onto the bed, clothes long since abandoned. Their kisses were hungry, hands all over, tracing pathways across one another’s bodies that they had previously only imagined.

 But she yearns for him now. She’s yearned for him all along.

 “We can stop if you want to,” says Jihyun, as his fingers run past her stomach. She doesn’t know how to explain that her skin tingles even at his lightest touches, as if he’s left footprints against her body. Instead she shakes her head.

 “No..I, I want this,” she says, planting her hands at his shoulders.

 She watches his hand trace the arc of her hips, letting his fingers dip into her wetting folds. His movements are almost impossibly gentle and she gasps the moment his fingers slip over her clit.

 “Do you like that?” He whispers the first time she moans and the delight in his voice is enough to leave her scrambling, not only for a better grip on the covers, but to grind against his touch.

 “Don’t stop,” she says, and his response is instantaneous. He crawls to the foot of the bed and sits up onto his knees to part her thighs. She knows that she ought to blush, but she cannot find it in herself to. In truth, embarrassment and modesty seem almost wrong for the situation; the morning sunlight sheds spots of bright light across his exposed body and if anything, she feels more like a spectator than an active participant.

 She outright arches her back when he inserts the first finger, his breath warm against her thighs as she gasps for air. She wonders if he has touched other women in the same way that he touches her now, but the moment is fleeting. It leaves her as she reaches for the bright blue of his hair. Perhaps there was another woman once, but in that moment there is only them.

 He teases his finger at her opening until she finds herself so lost in the fog of desire for him that she can see nothing else but her want. There is no world outside of their bedroom and if she had a name before, then she no longer cares for it. Her concentration rests on Jihyun’s steady rhythm and the jerks of her hips against his fingers in an attempt to make him go faster.

Once, twice, she feels a pang of lightning inside of her that hints at something deeper. The first few sparks of a rush that will leave her gasping into both the covers and her lover.

And it’s at that point that he slows down. He runs his fingers in and out torturously slowly and waiting for a reaction.

 “Sssh,” he says, reaching out a hand for her and at first she’s not sure why.

 The moment she runs her tongue across his fingers, he slides the fingers of his other hand back inside of her, making a conscious effort to push against a soft spot on her front wall that makes her moan so loudly and so suddenly that she’s grateful for V’s hand against her lips, else the entire district might have believed her murdered.

 She’s close now and she knows that she won’t be able to handle much more. Even as the thought comes to mind and Jihyun continues to thrust his fingers, hitting that same spot each and every time, she can think of nothing more but her curling toes and the pangs inside of her, each one leading to a singular ending.

 “Jihyun,” she says, “please…I…just fuck me.”

 She cannot tolerate the teasing any longer. It is not even a matter of wanting him to fuck her anymore but knowing that she needs it.

 Her request takes him by surprise, but he takes it in his stride.

 “Is that what you want?”

 “Yes! And you?”

 “Of course.”

 “But you’re not just…” Words are spilling out of her now like rain and she knows that she could make an effort to stop them but if she does she may never ask again. “You’re not just trying to make me happy, are you?”

 She doesn’t mention names, times, dates. She doesn’t have to. Anyone who’s ever met Jihyun Kim would understand her meaning. She never expected him to laugh, though. To climb up onto all fours and crawl back up the bed to kiss her forehead.

 “Thank you for asking, though I think you’ve forgotten something important,” he says, reaching into his bedside drawer. “You make me very happy too.”

 His first thrusts are tentative; angled to pinpoint the same spot he reached with his fingers. All of his movements prior to this moment have been carefully considered, but the moment he hits that particular bundle of nerves, that appears to be the last thing on his mind. His thrusts are deep and fast, leaving her gripping onto the small of his back and incapable of making any sound beyond moans at varying pitches.

 She is lost completely as she comes, barely noticing Jihyun’s erratic thrusts and groans as he comes with a groan that echoes deep inside of her. When she opens her eyes, it is the window box to her left that she spots first; a gift from the RFA upon his return that he has stacked with three small succulents and something she assumes is a cactus, but she knows very little of plants even when she’s not struggling to formulate words.

 The orgasm was only the beginning and, as she laid trembling, she did not notice Jihyun rest his head on her stomach. She didn’t see him admiring and drinking her in, listening to each one of her moans and whimpers of pleasure, her hair splayed across his pillow, nor her expressions contorted in a moment of ecstasy.

 But she sees him now, hair rumpled from her own hands and a crooked smile when she finally makes eye contact.

 He crawls back up the bed and lies down beside her, forehead to hers as she reaches her fingers to his face. Here in the afterglow, he is even more beautiful than before.

 “Are you alright?” He asks. “I can make some tea if you’d like?”

 And she wishes she could explain to him that she never had much in common before with paper cranes and watercolours, but when she thinks of his hands upon his body she can think of no other description.

 In the end she settles for simplicity.

 “Tea would be wonderful.”


End file.
